I’ve been walled in my entire life. Always, it was either “blonde,” “pretty,” “not smart,” or “grades.” Every expectation was another limit, a wall, forcing me down and holding me in. If I broke through them even the littlest bit, everyone would flinch, startled, and I’d retreat back inside.

Finally I decided to take down one big wall.

“Dad, I’m cutting my hair.”

My excuse was camping; it’s easier with short hair. The real reason was to stop hiding behind it. I wanted to dye it green or blue, but that wouldn’t go over well. So I chopped it. And I felt people back away from me, wondering, “What’ll she do next?”

I broke down a few more walls at freshman orientation. I was in the library, and a senior girl came up and started talking to me. Eventually, she gave me her number. We hung out every spare minute of my time. That was when I started questioning myself. I was letting a little, boxed-up voice inside have a say for the first time. I’m glad that I listened.

I fell for her, hard. We dated for three days, the best time of my freshman year. And then she realized that I cared, that she was a senior, and that she was going to have to leave. So she broke it off.

Therapy became a weekly thing. I thought about self-harm.

And then I said, “It’s okay.” I’ve never forgiven myself like that before. I just let go. “It’s okay. You’re not wrong. You’re not an awful person. Don’t beat yourself up.” And I listened. There was no more berating myself, no more cutting to feel pain physically instead of emotionally. No more obsessing over little mistakes. No more bruises on the inside to press on over and over. I feel bigger now. I kind of healed myself.

And I listened to that little voice, the one that told me it’s okay, I’m okay. I listened when it told me to go to a meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance at my school, telling my parents I was going to feminism club. I listened when that little voice told me to come out to my English class, and I listened, on a lonely car ride, when it told me to say those magic words and knock down the biggest wall of all: “Dad, I think I’m gay.”

Now, my hair still isn’t green, and I haven’t dated any other girls, but the walls are gone. There’s no more hesitation when some relative asks about a possible boyfriend. I simply say, “No, but there’s this girl I like.” There are no more careful looks around shelves when I go to the LGBT section at the bookstore. There are no more sideways glances when my parents notice me reading Two Boys Kissing by David Levithan. The walls are finally down.

But, you know, I think they were never there in the first place. I just needed to let myself say it’s okay.

Life’s so much easier if you let yourself be okay.